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HORSE THIEVES 

IT 

HERMANN HAGEDORN 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



COPYRIGHT OFFICE. 



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No registration o^NWe of this b^ 
as a preliminary to copyright protec- 
tion has been found. 



Forwarded to Order Division -WJMi^i^Xi l^HJ 

(bate) 

(Apr. 5, 1901—5,000.) 




Glass 


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Book 


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THE 

Horse Thieves 

A Comedy in One Act 



BY 

HERMANN HAGEDORN 



Privately Reprinted from the Boston Transcript 
May, 1909 

On Sale at the Harvard Co-operative Society 
Cambridge, Massachusetts 



s 



•v^ 






Copyright 1909, by Hermann Hagedorn 
All Rights Reserved 



Copyright also as a Dramatic Composition 



F<ecaived from 

Copyright Offfc©. 
MAR 1910 



To 

Shaun Kelly 

IN REMEMBRANCE OF COLORADO DAYS 



FOREWORD 

"The Horse Thieves/' together with 
"Five in the Morning," by the same author, 
and two other one-act plays, was produced 
by the Harvard Dramatic Club in Boston 
and Cambridge on the evenings of May 
17, 18 and 20, 1909. It was published in 
the Boston Evening Transcript of May 
22, 1909, with the following note of the 
literary editor: 

"This play was produced by the Harvard Dra- 
matic Club last Monday, and is offered as an 
example of the literary work now being done for 
the stage by graduates of recent years. It is 
founded on fact, and the horse thieves in quesf- 
tion are now in jail. The sheriff is still telling 
the story of their capture, and Mrs. Bartlett Is 
still celebrating the Sabbath on Saturday on her 
ranch on White River." 

The right to perform "The Horse 
Thieves" and "Five in the Morning" may 
be procured from the author, care of The 
Players, 16 Gramercy Park, New York 
City. "Five in the Morning" will be pub- 
lished by the Houghton Mifflin Company 
next autumn in a volume entitled "A 
Troop of the Guard and Other Poems." 

The author desires to thank Mr. E. F. 
Edgett, literary editor of the Boston Tran- 
script, for permission to reprint "The 



Horse Thieves" in book form from the 
original type. He furthermore extends 
his hearty thanks to the Harvard Dra- 
matic Club and, in particular, to its coach, 
Mr. Wilfred North, for the skilful presen- 
tation of his plays. 

H. H. 

Cambridge, Massachusetts, 
May 24, 1909. 



PROGRAM 

OF THE 

SPRING PRODUCTION 

OF THE 

HARVARD DRAMATIC CLUB 



Presented at Potter Hall, in Boston, on May 

17, and in Brattle Hall, Cambridge, 

on May 18 and 20, 1909. 

"THE HORSE THIEVES" 
By Hermann Hagedorn 

"DEATH AND THE DICERS" 
By Frederic Schenck 

"FIVE IN THE MORNING" 
By Hermann Hagedorn 

"THE HEART OF THE IRISHMAN" 
By Leonard Hatch 

CAST OF ''THE HORSE THIEVES" 

Al Bartlett Mr. James S. Savery 

Mrs. Eliza Bartlett. .Miss Charlotte Adams 

Laura Miss Anna Bourke 

Burt Haskell Mr. Philip Snedeker 

Olib Morrill Mr. James C. Nicholson 

Rev. James Clinch. .Mr. Robert C. Benchley 



The Horse Thieves 



Persons in the Play 

Al Bartlett, Sheriff of Rio Blanco County, 

Colorado 
Mrs. Eliza Bartlett^ his wife 
Laura, their daughter 
Burt Haskell 
Olih Morrill 
Rev. Jamhs Clinch 

SCENE: The kitchen of the ranch house of 
Al Bartlettj the sheriff. The room is small 
and simply though neatly furnished. The 
three walls visihle to the audience are papered 
with newspapers, whose scare-heads, illustra- 
tions and patent-medicine portraits furnish 
the only contrast and act in place of the more 
usual chromes. On the left, between two 
doors, the nearer of which leads to the bed- 
rooms of the adjacent cabin and the farther 
to the toolroom and smithy, stands a large 
stove on which a kettle is boiling: lazily. In 
the back wall, to right and left of the main 
door leading to the portico, are windows with 
clean muslin curtains. A woodbox stands un- 
derneath the left window, and at the one at 
the right is a small table on which an oil 
lamp is burning brightly. Above the table 
and a little to the left is a telephone. Four 
or five chairs are placed at the table or 
against the adjoining wall. On the right wall 
there is a door forward leading to the bed- 
room occupied by Mr. Clinch, and beyond it 
is a third curtained window. The time is 
about eight o'clock of a Saturday evening. 
Mrs. Bartlett, dressed in a sober gown of 
black, is discovered sitting with folded hands 
in a rocking chair at the side of the atovo 
nearest the audience. A copy of the "Advent 
Herald" is in her lap. A sound of chopping 
is heard outside. 

II 



Mrs. Bartlett — (In a weary voice, slightly 
naeal and drawling). Laura! 

Laura — (In a sing-song, while the chop- 
ping continues). Bu-sy! 

Mrs. Bartlett — (After a moment). Laura! 
(The chopping ceases.) 

Laura — (Resigned). Well. Ma, come on! 
Rustle along, though. I ain't got a heap 
o' time. 

Mrs. Bartlett (Slowly). Waal, Laura, it's 
just about this Mr. Clinch. He's a nice, 
good 

Laura — (Still outside, resuming her chop- 
ping with new vigor). Oh, shucks. Ma! 

Mrs. Bartlett — (Undismayed). He's a 
very nice young man. I don't agree with 
all his religious views, hut he's very gen- 
tlemanly and nice, and I don't s'pose 
there's so much difference between bein' a 
Presbyterian and bein' a Seventh Day Ad- 
ventist as how it ought to make enemies o' 
people. Though the Advent Herald do say 
that the Presbyterians is about as far as 
any from the truth o' God. 

(The figure of Laura with an armful of 
wood suddenly appears in the doorway, 
back. She is eighteen, tall and well-built, 
with her brown hair in a braid down her 
back. She wears a blue calico dress, cov- 
ered partly by a dirty brown apron.) 

Laura — (With a touch of sarcasm). Com- 
fortable, Ma? (She drops her burden into 
the wood-box and then turns her attention 
to the kettle on the stove.) 

Mrs, Bartlett — (Innocently). Why, yes, I 
think I am. 

Laura— (Disgusted). Well, all I can say. 



12 



Ma, is that it's jest the best thing in the 
world that the rest of the family don't in- 
dulge in no Seventh Day Advent business. 
There' d be a murder before the fust day 
come round again, even if Pa Is the sheriff 
of Rio OBlanco County, Colorado. 

Mrs. Bartlett — Laura, I don't know if 
you ain't pretty wicked sometimes, goin' 
aroun' so much with your father. Don't 
you know the commandment of the Sab- 
bath—to keep it holy? 

Laura — ^Well, I don't much see the use 
o' keepin' one commandment if ye've got 
to bust two or three others to do it. What's 
the good o' commandments anyhow? Kill- 
in' people sounds pretty bad in church, but 
Pa shoots a man easy as talkin', and no- 
body sez nothin', and the more he shoots 
the surer he is o' gettin' elected again nex' 
fall. 

Mrs. Bartlett— He's not so sure of it this 
time, he sez. 

Laura— He is if he gets them horse-rust- 
lers what's been operatin' on the "K bar 
Q" range. He's been after 'em fur a 
month good an' hard, an' the county 
knows it. 

Mrs. Bartlett — (Resigned). I s'pose 
he '11 be back sometime. 

Laura — He will if they don't see him 
fust. Horse-rustlers ain't the same as 
other thieves. They 're desprlt charac- 
ters an' they fight like gee! They may 
ha' plunked Pa now — he 's been away so 
long. 

(The sound of a horse in canter is 
heard, followed by a second's silence, and 



^3 



then a voice — "Stop, stop, I say!" — and 
footsteps on the portico.) 

Mrs. Bartlett— (Mildly). Well, I guess 
that must be Mr. Clinch. It 's a pleasant 
evenin', Mr. Clinch. I was wonderin'— 

(Clinch enters as Mrs. Bartlett is talk- 
ing. He is fair, of medium height, clean- 
shaven, a type bred anywhere between 
Kansas City and Pittsburg. He wears 
Western clothes — corduroy trousers, flan- 
nel shirt, boots, straps, bandana, sombrero 
— but the effort is apparent. He is very 
shy, but whenever he rises out of his em- 
barrassment, he is slightly patronizing. 
He is painfully neat and precise in word 
and action, and carefully dusts his shoes 
and brushes spots from his clothes when- 
ever he is left out of the conversation a 
moment.) 

Clinch — (Entering, is embarrassed at 
the presence of the two women). Good 
morning!— I mean, good evening. 

Laura — That 's right. It 's evenin', Mr. 
Clinch. Ye 're late. Supper 's cleared. 

Clinch— Oh— er— thank you— thank you so 
much for not waiting. I— that is— we— er— 
have dined— at the Rio Blanco— in Meeker. 

Laura — Ye don't dine at the Rio Blan- 
co. Ye feed. 

Clinch — Miss Laura — -er — I 've got some 
news for you. 

Laura — (Without much concern). 
Well, come on with it. 

Clinch — (A trifle kittenish). Guess. 

Laura — Pa get plunked? 

Clinch — (Amazed). Eh? (Then, beam- 
ingly as he comprehends) Oh! How 'd 



14 



you know it was about your father? No, 
he 's back. 

Mrs. Bartlett — Well, I do say! 

Laura (Deeply interested). Alone? 

Clinch — (Not understanding). He is 
now. But I took supper with him. 

Laura— (Losing patience). I don't care 
about you. I mean did he get them hoss- 
thieves? 

Clinch — Oh! Why didn't you say so? 
He 's got them. Down in Galopp, New 
Mexico, nine hundred miles, thirty-two 

days' riding (Stopping suddenly and 

considering). Or was it thirty-three? I 
don't know. He said 

Laura — That '11 fetch the election, 
sure! 

Clinch — I think it was thirty-two! 
Anyway, they 're in the village jail, and 
— er — Mr. Bartlett thinks they will be 
condemned for fifteen years. (Taking 
out a note-book). I've got the law here. 
I always carry such things about with 
me. It helps me to be accurate. 

Laura — Fifteen years! Serves 'em 
right. Orter get strung. But the jail 
won't hold 'em long if they got any 
sense. Pa locked me in it once just for 
fun, an' I crawled out through the stove- 
pipe hole. But I was some dirty when I 
got out, I guess. 

Clinch — (Turning the leaves of his 
notebook hurriedly). Breaking jail? Oh! 
Extra penalty. They're safe. Mr. Bart- 
lett has-er-threatened to shoot, if such 
a-er-desperate attempt should be made. 

Laura — Starve 'em out if they got in 

15 



the mountains. I guess they won't budge 
much. Where's Pa? 

Clinch — Oh-er-he's at Mr. Nimick's. 

Laura — (Surprised). What for? 

Clinch— He's telephoning round. You 
see — some one in town took our horses 
by mistake. We got a couple from Mr. 
Bryan's corral — 

Laura — Some more rustlin', eh? 

Clinch— Mr. Bartlett was-er-a little 
worried. 

Laura — I guess you'll think you've 
struck a place that needs a parson some. 

Clinch— (With a long breath of sudden 
desperate resolve and speaking in a low 
voice to Laura). I '11 stay here— for a 
consideration. 

Laura — My, but ain't you kind? Oh, I 
guess the ranch people'll send you round 
enough bacon an' beans to live, an' moun- 
tain veal now an' then, when the game 
wardens ain't lookin'. An' ye can ketch 
fish pretty well for a parson. 

Clinch — (Seriously). You failed to 
grasp my meaning. To be precise — I 
mean you. 

Laura — (Turning away with a shrug). 
Oh, then I guess Rio Blanco County, Col- 
orado '11 have to go to hell. 

Mrs. Bartlett — Laura! I wish you could 
do something with her, Mr. Clinch. She's 
got a wicked streak — from her pa, I 
guess. 

Clinch — Now look here, Miss Laura — 

Laura — Well, I guess 'tween a Presby- 
terian parson and a Seventh Day Ad- 
ventist there ain't much show for a plain 



l6 



girl what ain't got no frills. I guess it's 
me to work. Talk to Ma, Mr. Clinch. 
Convert her to your Presbyterian bizness 
or anythin' else that'll keep her out o' 
that rocker on a Saturday. It'd ease 
things up lots b'tween Ma and me. (She 
picks up a pail and starts to go out, but 
stops in the door. The sound of hoofs is 
heard.) There's someone comin' — two 
men — I wonder if they'll go by, (After a 
pause.) They're stoppin'. 

Voice — (Outside). Al Bartlett the 
sheriff in? 

Laura — Ain't come back yet. Wanter 
wait? 

Voice— Guess we will, if yo don' mind. 

Laura — Well, hitch your hosses by the 
fence. They'll be all right. No rustlers 
this-a-ways. 

Voice— All right. Thanks. 

Mrs. Bartlett — (Drawling). Well, now, 
I wonder who them are. 

Clinch — I don't know, Mrs. Bartlett. I 
suppose we may find out if they come in. 

Laura — (Dryly). P'raps we may. 

(Laura has remained standing in the 
door waiting for the visitors, who now 
enter, taking off their high-crowned felt 
hats as they do so, and bowing awkward- 
ly to Mrs. Bartlett and Laura. They are 
dressed in the customary habit of cow- 
boys, and wear vests over their blue 
shirts, but no coats. Their clothes are 
covered with soot. The elder, Olie Mor- 
rill, is about thirty years old, with a 
blond bristly beard and keen, protruding 
eyes, whose brightness suggests drink. 



17 



Burt Haskell, the younger man, is tall 
and slender, with a long, rather thin face 
and clear, honest eyes and mouth. He is 
habitually clean-shaven, but a three- 
days' growth is fairly visible on his lips 
and the tip of his chin. He is bony and 
awkward and is scarcely more than 
twenty-two. Both men appear to be in 
high spirits, apparently from some other 
cause than drink.) 

Morrill — Al ain't in, eh? (Recollecting 
his manners.) 'Scuse us fer tumblin' in 
on ye in this way. We was down in 
Meeker an' just thought we'd like to look 
up our ol' frien' Al. 

Laura — Pa'll be back pretty soon, I 
guess. Ben off a month chasin' hoss- 
thieves down in New Mexico. 

Morrill — (Heartily). Ye don't say! 

Burt — (With an effort). Oh, yes. Ye 
don't say. 

Clinch — (Feeling the responsibilities of 
the honneurs). Mr. Bartlett will return 
shortly. Take chairs-er-gentlemen. 

Mrs. Bartlett — (With mild cordiality.) 
Why, yes, set down. 

Morrill — (Looking Clinch over dubious- 
ly). You ain't from these parts. 

Mrs. Bartlett — (With a touch of pride). 
Mr. Clinch is a minister. 

Morrill — (Satisfied). I thought ye 
wuz n't from these parts. 

Clinch. Eh? I don't think I — er — 
quite see the connection. (Morrill turns 
away and examines the wall-paper. 
Clinch looks after him q.uestioningly a 
moment, then pulls out his handkerchief 

l8 



and carefully dusts off his shoes. Burt 
and Laura hold the centre of the stage.) 

Laura — (To Burt). I seen you some- 
where. 

Burt — I dunno as I jest remember 
where. 

Laura — Oh, I know now. Up on the 
range, the time I went after that cow of 
cum what got away. 

Morrill — (Turning round suddenly). 
Oh, I guess not, miss. Warn't it down 
at the school-house on the Fourth — 
that square dance — you rec'llect — you 
danced with — I guess it was him there 
(pointing to Clinch) ana Burt, he was 
dancin'. 

Laura — Shucks! Wouldn't I rec'llect 
where I seen him? (Emharrassed sud- 
denly at her own warmth) — I mean — I 
warn't at that dance, anyhow. You (to 
Morrill) was ropin' a colt up by the lake 
where the salt is fer the cattle. Own a 
ranch that-a-way? 

Morrill — (Glibly). Down by the South 
Fork, near — near Beaver Creek. Ye 
know that place where the river takes 
a big turn— 

Burt — (With suspicious haste). And 
the road goes up to Buford. Ye want to 
come down that way some time. I re- 
member the fust time Olie and I come 
up the river — I sez to Olie, "Now this 
place suits me right down;" an' Olie sez, 
"Burt Haskell — " 

Laura — What were ye ropin' that colt 
up there for? 

Burt — Which colt? 



J9 



Morrill — (Gasping at Laura's quick- 
ness). Oh, she means the sorrel what we 
sold to the General. A fine man, the Gen- 
eral. I 'minds me how when I wuz a 
kid — (takes a flask out of his boot). 
Have a swig, Burt? Sort o' hot in here, 
Miss. I guess I '11 get a breath. You 
entertain the lady, Burt. (He gets up 
and starts for the door). 

Burt — (Despairingly). Don't leave me, 
Olie! 

Laura — (Busying herself at the stove). 
The one I mean was a black. 

Burt — (Mopping his brow). Oh, sure, 
I remember now. We wuz lookin' after 
his brand which wuz sort o' hid by his 
hair growin' so long, an' you come up — 

Laura — What 's your brand? 

Burt — Three bars in a circle — this 
way — 

Laura — This wuz a "K bar Q." 

Morrill — (At the door, breaking into 
convulsions of laughter). Judas, but 
she's got keen headlights, Burt! 

Burt — (Seriously to Laura). Ye see, 
how three bars in a circle, sorter over- 
grown, can look mighty like a "K bar 
Q." Soon as we found out, we let him 
go, of course. 

Laura — O' course, ye did. Ye did n't 
think I thought ye wuz hoss-rustlers, 
did ye? 

Morrill — (Going out with another 
burst of laughter). Judas, Burt! 

Burt — O' course, we did n't. But ye 
see, your pa bein' the sheriff — 

Laura — Um. 



20 



Burt — We thought ye might be sort o' 
suspicious o' strangers, particularly as 
there 's them two fellers the sheriff 's 
been after fer a month. 

Laura — Oh, them's caught. They're 
jugged and '11 get fifteen apiece, I guess. 

Burt — (Lamely). Ye don't say! That's 
sort o' good work for Al, ain't it? 

Clinch — (Looking up from his brushing 
and dusting). Got them at Galopp, New 
Mexico. He told me the whole story. I 
can give you all the details. It begins 
away back in November before last 

Laura— (Paying no attention to Clinch). 
Orter be strung up. Ef ye can't trust your 
hosses on the range, ye might as well shut 
up shop. 

Clinch — There might be extenuating cir- 
cumstances. 

Burt — (Suspiciously). What's them? 

Clinch — Something making the thieving 
not quite so bad. 

Burt— D'ye think that, too. Miss? 

Laura — Well, I dunno. Thievin' is thiev- 
in', but hoss-thievin's dirty mean, an' I 
dunno as anything short o' hangin' is good 
enough for a mean pusson. 

Clinch — Well, after all, it isn't as bad as 
robbing a bank where the widows and or- 
phans 

Laura— (Dryly). You ask Pa what they 
did to the people what tried to rob the 
bank. 

Burt— What? 

Laura — Waal, there wuz no expenses of 
a trial, 

21 



Morrill — (Appearing at the door). I don't 
see no signs of Al comin* down the road. 

Mrs. Bartlett — ^Why, ye might telephone. 
I dunno but he'd want to come right soon 
if he knew thar wuz friends waitin' fer 
him. 

Morrill — (With a sudden guffaw, nudg- 
ing Burt). Telephone! 

Burt — (Restless). I guess we don't mind 
waitin'. 

Morrill — I dunno, I think it'd be right 
sociable to hev our friend Al come in an' 
jine us now. 

Clinch — He's just down a half-mile or a 
trifle more at Nimick's, using the long dis- 
tance telephone to ask around about some 
horses we lost in town. This telephone 
just goes to five or six ranches 

Morrill — A bay mare an' a chestnut? 

Clinch — Why, yes; where did you see 
them? 

Morrill — Ye left them by the Rio Blancfi" 
Restaurant, didn't ye? 

Clinch — Yes, in the shed behind. 

(Morrill nudges Burt surreptitiously and 
bursts into peals of laughter. Then, with 
his finger pointed at Clinch, he asks him, 
gasping.) 

Morrill — What's his number? 

Clinch — I don't see the joke exactly. 

Morrill— (Holding his sides). Whow!— 
what's the call? 

Burt— Don't, Olie! 

Morrill — What do you care? 

Burt — Don't, that's all I sez. I'm goin* 
to quit. I'm goin' back. 

Morrill — (Winking). Home, eh? 

22 



Burt — Quit it! It ain't the sport I 
thought 'twas goin' to be, an' I'm no go. 
Laura — (Dryly). Well, I don't see as 
there's anything keepin' ye here. If we 
ain't entertainin' enough for ye, well^ 
maybe ye can do better s'mother place. 

Burt — 'Scuse me' miss, I guess I warn't 
any too perlite. 'Taint that I ain't havin* 
a snortin' good time. Miss, but I guess-I- 
jest got to move on. 

Morrill — Come oft, Burt! Ye'll get back 
there quick enough. See it out. 
Burt — I w^on't. 

Morrill— (To Clinch). What's that call? 
Clinch — Eh? Oh, the telephone? Two 
short and a long. 

Burt — Cut it out, Olie! What's the use 
o' her findin' out — 
Laura — Me? 

Morrill — He meant Al findin' out we 
wuz here. (Gives two short rings and a 
long one to the telephone). Hel-lo- 

Burt — Quit it, Olie. Come on, we'll 
cut — 

Morrill — (At the telephone). Hello! 
This Mr. Nimick? Sheriff there? Oh, tell 
him jest a couple of friends. Yeh, yeh — 
got 'em, did he? Good man, the sheriff. 
Guess he'll get the election? Yeh, yeh. 
Fifteen years — that's a bit high, ain't it? 
Well, all right. Glad to have seen ye. 
Hello! That you, Al? (Laughs.) Don't 
you know me, Al? Guess! Nope. Guess 
again. Ben waitin' fer ye with my part- 
ner here at your place for a half hour. Oh, 
come off. Al. Judas! Don't bust the ma- 
chine. Yep, it's me all right, and here's 

^3 



Burt, big as life and twice as na'tural, 
makin' up to yer han'some daughter. 
Thought we'd drop in and spend a pleas- 
ant evenin' wi' you. (Laughing.) Ye 
did, did ye? Through the stove-pipe hole. 
Darn dirty hole, too. Better have it 
cleaned. Ha. ha. 

Laura — The stove-pipe hole! 

Morrill — (At the telephone). No rush. 
We won't cut. So long. (Hangs up the 
receiver). I thought he'd come ef I ast 
him. 

Laura — So three bars is your brand, 
eh? Pity ye wouldn't take a noose on a 
gallows. 

Morrill — Mebbe we will. Miss. 

Clinch — I'm afraid I don't quite under- 
stand. 

Laura — You never crawled through a 
stove-pipe hole. 

Clinch — That's in the jail, you said, 
didn't you? 

Laura — An' them's those what orter be 
there. 

Clinch — The hoss thieves? 

Mrs. Bartlett — Mercy me! 

Laura> — (Going quietly to the wall and 
taking down a Winchester). The guns 
on this here ranch is loaded. 

Burt — (Sullenly). We ain't goin' to 
cut, Miss. 

Laura — Good reason, I guess. 

Clinch— (Whispering to Laura). Don't 
make them desperate. 

Laura — I guess I know how to treat 
a hoss thief. 

Burt — We ain't come to do no harm. 



24. 



Miss. Sort o' evenin' call on our friend 
Al — that's all. I'm mighty sorry — 

Laura — Hoss-thief ! 

Burt — -Well, I'm afraid that's what 
you'd call it. 

Laura — They used to decorate the cot- 
tonwoods with hoss-thieves when I wuz 
a kid. But times is gettin' worse. 

Morrill — That's a bit hard, ain't it, 
Miss? 

Laura — I'd be harder'n that if I could. 

Mrs. Bartlett — Why, Laura! 

Burt — (Lamely to Morrill). I guess our 
little joke ain't so very funny. 

Laura— (To Burt). Joke, eh? Ye lie 
and ye steal bosses — what else d'ye do? 
I s'pose ye get drunk and shoot up towns 
an' hold up women an' kill babies. Funny, 
ain't it? I wish I wuz the jury to try 
you when ye comes up in the fall. Fif- 
teen years I I wouldn't give ye a day. 
I'd have ye swing, if I had to do it myself. 
Him there (indicating Morrill), he's dif- 
ferent. I'm sorry for him. He don't 
know no better. God didn't start him 
right; but you — Burt, or whatever he 
calls you— you've got a milk face and 
eyes and a mouth that tells people you're 
a good sort, when ye ain't. And that's 
why I'd string ye, because, without sayin' 
a word or doin' a thing, you're a liar; and 
when you're tellin' the truth, you're ten 
times the liar than when you're lyin' — an' 
ye can take that to jail wi' you and be — 
there's pa! 

(Hoofs are heard outside, and a second 
later Al Bartlett appears. He is short 



25 



and stocky, with a small head, low 
brows, deep-set keen eyes, and a sandy 
moustache. He wears a sack coat and a 
vest above his corduroy trousers and 
boots. A heavy silver watch chain and 
the sheriff's badge are prominent. As he 
enters, he is most excited.) 

Bartlett — So here ye are, are ye? Ye 
thought ye'd cut, did ye? 

Morrill — We wuz .iest allowin' we'd 
give you a sort o' friendly call, that's all. 
Sort o' lonely down there — 
Bartlett — Now see here — 
Morrill — Oh, come off. Al. Ye're not 
goin' to take offence at a little liberty 
between friends. 

Clinch — (Amazed). Eh? 
Burt — We wuzn't meanin' no harm, Al. 
Morrill — Jest a little excursion. 
Burt— Ye see we did n't try to light out. 
Morrill — Come right to you — even tele- 
phones you — begged you to keep us com- 
pany — I don't know but you 're sort o' 
poor-spirited, Al, to take offence that 
way. 

Bartlett — ^Now look a-here, Olie Mor- 
rill, I 've treated you boys pretty white. 
Followed you nine hundred miles, all the 
way to Galopp, New Mexico, thirty-two 
days a-horse-back, an' never laid a iron 
on ye when I got ye. Ye know me, I sez, 
an' ye know I don't stand for no foolin'. 
Ef ye try to cut, I shoots, an' I never 
wings a man, I lays him out. Them wuz 
my words, an' ye never give me any 
trouble. 

26 



Morrill — Well, I don't see as how ye 've 
got much of a kick comin', Al. 

Bartlett — I bein' so kind to you boys, it 
jest hurts me to see you goin' on this 
way. Why, jest this mornin, I wuz think- 
in' of havin' ye both up here to the ranch 
over Sunday fer some flshin'. Ye see how 
I trusted ye. 

Laura — Hev them up here? 

Bartlett — Why, yes — friends o' mine — I 
don't see no harm. 

Laura — (Hanging the gun on the wall 
again). Well, ye can hav 'em. That's 
all. I 'm going to bed. 

Burt — Say, Miss . 

Laura — Well, I guess I hain't got any- 
thing more to say to you. (She goes out, 
left, forward.) 

Bartlett — I don't know where the girl 
got her manners, except from you, Mrs. 
Bartlett. 

Mrs. Bartlett — Why, Al, I don't think 
you 're quite reasonable. 

Clinch — ^Miss Laura got a bit excited 
before you came. 

Morrill — Het up, ye might say. 

Bartlett — ^Well, cool her down, Eliza. 
Me an' my friends '11 just have a drop— 
ye need n't wait — ye need n't wait, Mrs. 
Bartlett. 

Mrs. Bartlett — I don't know as I care to 
much, Mr. Bartlett. (Exit, left.) 

Bartlett— No hard feelin', boys. Set 
down. I know ye must 'a ben a bit lone- 
ly down there, an' the jail ain't all it 
might be fur comfort. (The three sit 
down at the table. Bartlett turns to- 



27 



ward Clinch who is apparently waiting 
for an invitation.) Comin', Mr. Clinch? 
Ye might as well set down and join the 
publicans an' sinners. 

Clinch — ^Don't mention it — I mean — er — 
of course. Thank you very much. 

Bartlett — Me an' the boys is good 
friends, even if I have to jug 'em. (Aside 
to Clinch.) Liftin' horses off the range. 
Too bad, ain't it, particularly the young- 
er? Oh, it hurts sometimes, I tell ye. 
An' those letters from their mothers! 
Really touchin'. But they re bad boys. 
Rode nine hundred miles after 'em, thir- 
ty-two days a-horse-back, I did, and got 
'em in Galopp, New Mexico — eh, boys? 

Burt — Guess ye did, Al. 

Bartlett — An' I never put an iron on 
'em. I just sez to 'em. Now, boys, ye 
know me. I never wings a man, I lays 
'im out. 

Morrill — (Pulling out a flask). Have a 
drink, Al? 

Bartlett — (After a long drink, continu- 
ing). As I wuz sayin', Mr. Clinch, the 
boys knows me in this county. They 
knows I ishoot. (Aside) Now, them two 
boys there. When I got 'em down in Ga- 
lopp, New Mexico, nine hundred miles — 

Clinch — (Seriously). Thirty-two days' 
riding — 

Bartlett — I told ye about that, did n't 
I? Well, I came awfully near shootin' 
'em. It 'd done 'em good. But I 'm kind 
0' softhearted, Mr. Clinch, as the Scrip- 
ture sez — you know more about that than 
me — "longsufferin' an' forbearin' " — that 's 

28 



what I am, "forbearin'." An' the mothers 
wrote me letters — pathetic it was. Now 
Burt's mother there, down in Oklahoma. 
She always wrote him to be good an' how 
she was lookin' her eyes out to see him 
come back. Too bad, ain't it? 

Clinch — ^^Could n't you give them an- 
other chance? 

Bartlett — Well now, there's that elec- 
tion — an' this county needs me, it does, 
an' I do feel how it 's my duty to get 
elected again. 

Morrill— (With a twinkle). There ain't 
any more hoss-thieves you 're huntin* 
for, Al? 

Bartlett — Well, I dunno, now, I 'm sort 
o' worried. I tell ye, it 's a responsible 
job I 've got. I work pretty hard. 

Burt— (Calmly). No harder 'n we do. 

Clinch — Pardon me. You 're a hoss- 
thief, aren't you? 

Morrill — Well, ain't that workin'? 

Clinch — (Meekly). Er-yes-I-er hadn't ex- 
actly thought of it that way. 

Bartlett — Now there is more hoss- 
thieves in this here county, an' ye might 
as well know it, an' it won't make the 
Jedge any lighter on ye either. Now 
se'e here. Some rustlers right down in 
Meeker village took our bosses while 
we wuz hevin' our dinner — a bay mare 
an' a chestnut — 

(Morrill nudges Burt and looks up at 
Bartlett interestedly, but with a twinkle 
in his eye). 

Morrill — Might 'a broke loose, might n't 
they? 

29 



Bartlett — Them bosses never broke 
loose on me yet. 

Morrill — How d'ye come up from 
town? 

Clincb — (Ratber proudly). Bareback. 
Have you ever ridden bareback? 

Bartlett — Got a couple of mares from 
Tom Bryan — 

Burt — He 's out o' town. 

Bartlett — Well, I know Tom pretty 
well, an' his corral — 

Morrill — Begad, Al, you stole 'em! 

Bartlett — Now, look a-here, Olie — 

Burt — Hoss-rustler, begosh! 

Bartlett — Shut up, Burt, 1 'm goin' to 
take 'em back tomorrow. 

Morrill — Yes, you are! 

Bartlett— Ye didn't think I'd walk, 
did ye, Olie Morrill? 

Morrill — Well, I did n't want to walk 
much myself. 

Burt — I wuz wonderin' why them stir- 
rups wuz so short. 

Bartlett — Eh? 

Morrill — (After a quick burst of 
laughter in which Burt joins, taking out 
his flask). Have a swig, pard. 

Bartlett — (Hotly). By gee! I '11 string 
you boys yet! (After a moment, senti- 
mentally.) Now, I 've been good to you 
boys. I might 'a shot ye both down in 
Galopp, New Mexico, but I did n't an' I 
brought ye back — 

Clinch— (Innocently). Nine hundred 

miles — ' 

Bartlett — Nine hundred miles an' never 



30 



laid an iron on ye, an' I wuz goin' to hev 
ye up to the ranch fer some fishin' — 

Morrill — Well, here we are. What's 
the kick? Ain't the fishin' good? 

Bartlett — An' I tell ye I'm through 
with ye. Gimme that bottle. (He takes 
a long pull out of Morrill's bottle.) Now 
gimme that right fist o' yours, Olie Mor- 
rill, an' your left, Burt Haskell. 

Burt — Ye ain't goin' to go back on a 
friend, Al? 

Bartlett — Come on. 

Morrill — Ye ain't goin' to mind a little 
joke between friends? 

Bartlett — I 've had enough of jokes, I 
hev. Come on. 

(They reach out their hands and in a 
flash are handcuffed together.) 

Morrill — Well, I guess this is something 
like gettin' married, Burt. Is the parson 
goin' to say the blessin', Al? (Bartlett 
rises and surreptitiously takes another pull 
at the bottle which he quietly draws out 
of Morrill's pocket.) 

Clinch — (Aside to Morrill and Burt). If 
there's anything I can do for you fellowa 

Bartlett— (Turning). What's that the 
Scripture sez, Mr. Clinch — you know that 
better'n me — "What man has jined together 
let not God put asunder." I guess this is 
my job, Mr. Clinch. 

Clinch — (Rising). I wasn't going to in- 
terfere. 

Bartlett — No offence, no offence. As the 
Scripture sez— "Let not the sun go settin' 



31 



on your wrath." You don't think I wuz 
meanin' no offence, Mr. Clinch? 

Clinch— Of course not. But I guess I'll 
go to bed, Mr. Bartlett. See you in the 
morning. They'll stay here, of course? 

Bartlett— ^(Going to tool-room door and 
opening it). There's your palatial head- 
quarters, boys. Get in there quick. 

Morrill — Well, good night, parson. 

Burt— ^Good night. 

Clinch — Good night. Good night, Mr. 
Bartlett. 

Bartlett— Ye'd better ride 'back to Bryan's 
early -wi' that mare, or I'll be arrestin' you. 

Clinch— I'll see to that. (Exit right.) 

Bartlett— (Confidentially). I didn't want 
to say things before the parson, but ye 

know, boys (He staggers a little from 

the effects of the whiskey, then straightens 
himself, speaking with great precision.) 
I don't blame you boys for stealin' bosses, 
I've done that myself 

Morrill — (Deprecatingly). Ye're fabricat- 
in', Al. 

Bartlett — No, I ain't; no, I ain't. I don't 
blame ye, I don't, for stealin'. I just blame 
ye for — gettin' caught. Ye wuz careless, 
an' I believe — in doin' things up right. 
That's why I shoot so straight. I never 
wings a man, I lays 'im out an' they knows 
it. Now git to bed. 

Morrill — Happy dreams, Al. 

Bartlett--Git to bed. 

Burt — Good night. Say, Al 

Bartlett— What's doin'? 

Burt — Ye won't be stealin' our bosses 



32 



while we're asleep, will ye? A bay mare 
an' a chestnut. 

Bartlett— (Hotly). Git in there. 

(Burt and Morrill scamper into the tool- 
rooni; laughing; the sherifE follows slowly 
and unsteadily and locks the door. Then 
he returns to the middle of the room and 
stands a moment sunk in thouffht. Sud- 
denly he remembers what he wanted to do 
and goes over to the table and blows out 
the lamp. The room is not entitely dark, 
however, for a clear moon is shining out- 
side. Bartlett crosses the room to the door 
left, forward, leading to the bedrooms. He 
stumbles across the rocker with a muttered 
exclamation, then sinks into it with a great 
sigh of contentment. For a while he talks 
lazily to himself, then drops asleep). 

Bartlett — Followed 'em nine hundred 
miles, thirty-two days a-horseback, to Gal- 
opp. New Mexico, an' brought 'em back an' 
never put — an — iron — on 'em. I jest sez to 
'em, Boys, now ye know Al Bartlett. He 
never — wings a man — he lays — 'em — out 

(For a moment only the sheriff's heavy 
breathing may be heard. Then suddenly 
the figure of Laura appears in the main 
door back. She listens an instant, then 
opens the screen door and enters. She 
hears her father's breathing and leans an 
instant over his chair. Assuring herself 
that he is asleep, she turns to the tool-room 
door and unlocks it.) 

Laura — (Calling in a whisper). Burt! 
Say, Burt Haskell! 

Bartlett — (Talking in his sleep). Rustlin' 
hosses on the range — Galopp, New Mex- 

32 



Laura — (Raises her Taead to listen; then 
when the sheriff is silent again she calls 
once more). Burt Haskell! 

(The door is opened slightly and Mor- 
rill's head appears. He smiles genially.) 

Morrill— -Oood evenin', Miss. 

Laura — (Impatiently). I want Burt. 

Morrill — ^Well, I guess ye can't hev him 
without havin' me. We're married. 

Laura — Quit your foolin'. There ain't 
'nough time. 

Morrill — Come here, Burt, an' show the 
lady. "We're sort o' Siamese Twins' — 

Laurai — What ye talkin'? 

Morrill — Sort o' "Love me, love my 
dog." 

Burt — (Showing his head behind Mor- 
rill). We're han'cuffed, Miss. 

Laura — ^Well, come out. 

Burt — All right. Miss. 

(The two heads disappear an instant. 
The voice of Morrill is heard muttering: 
"Come here with that boot, young feller. 
This ain't no socio-logical community.") 

Laura — (In a sharp whisper). Hustle 
up thar! 

(The men appear. Laura draws Burt 
aside. When Morrill naturally follows, 
she looks at him as an intruder, then, re- 
membering, smiles a little.) 

Laura — Come here, Burt Haskell. (To 
Morrill). All right, since you're han'- 
cuffed. (To Burt). I tor ye I hated ye, 
an' I do. But I want ye to git. 

Burt— Git? 

Morrill — (Explaining). She wants ye 
to flew the coop, Burt, 

34 



Burt — 'Tain't no use. Miss. They'd 
starve us out, or shoot us full o' lead. 

Laura — I'll' see to father. 

Burt — 'Scuse me, Miss, but I guess ye 
don't know the ol' man much. 

Morrill — Gettin' us means the election, 
Miss. 

Laura— I wuzn't talkin' to you. Te want 
to remember that this is private here an' 
you ain't really thar. 

Morrill — Well, I dunno as I can help 
hearin.' 

Laura — You can help talkin', I guess. 

Burt — Shut up, Olie! 

Morrill — (Protesting). 'Tain't no easy 
position for a man — 

Laura— Ye say ye can't git, Burt Has- 
kell? 

Burt — They'd catch us in a week. If 
we could, don't ye think we'd a lit out 
when we broke jail tonight? 

Laura — (Suddenly). Where's your 
home? 

Burt — Oklahoma. 

Laura — Ranch ? 

Burt — Yep, Miss. 

Laura — Folks livin'? 

Burt — My mother keeps the place. 

Laura — ^What d'ye steal them hosses 
for? Ye don't seem to mind much get- 
tin' jailed, 

Burt — (Shifting from one foot to the 
other in embarrassment). Well, I don't 
guess it was nuthin' but — I don't know 
— an' about not mindin' this (pointing to 
the handcuffs) well, I got a pretty rough 

35 



road to travel an' there don't seem much, 
use bawlin' about it. 

Laura— Was there none of them 'ten- 
uating circumstances? 

Burt — (Hunching his shoulders, rest- 
lessly). "Well, things got sort o' tight 
down to the ranch an' — 

Laura — (With an approving grunt). Go 

on. 

Burt. There ain't no "go on." 

Laura — Ever do it again? 

Morrill — (Interposing). He won't get 
the chance, I guess. Miss. 

Laura — We ain't talkin' to you. (To 
Burt). If ye got free, would ye? 

Burt — ^Don't reckon I would, Miss. 

Laura — Would ye go to the ranch an' 
work? 

Burt — ^Well, I guess there ain't no use 
talkin' o' them things. 

Laura — (Persisting). Would ye now? 

Burt — If I wasn't goin' up for fifteen 
years, l don't know but I would. 

Laura — Promise. 

Burt — ^What for? 

Laura — Promise. 

Morrill — Judas! Burt, what 's she 
want? 

Laura — Promise. 

Burt — CSimply). I will, Miss. 

Morrill — (Aside to Burt). She's worse'n 
the parson, Burt. 

Laura — (Walking up to the door of 
Clinch's room on the right, and knocking 
softly). Parson! Mr. Clinch! 

Clinch— (In the room, yawning). All right. 
What's the matter? 

36 



Laura — ^Come on out. I want ye to 
marry me. 

Clinch — (With a shout). Laura! 

Morrill — Judas, Burt! 

Laura — Get out, Mr. Clinch. Te needn't 
get fresh jest 'cause you 're t'other side the 
door. Comin' ? 

Clinch — (Opening the door a crack and 
peering through). I don't understand. 
Miss Laura. 

Laura — No, you 're slow. Ready? 

Clinch— In a minute. (He closes the 
door and appears again a moment later 
in a long bath robe. His hair is ruffled 
and his eyes blinking.) 

Morrill — (In a stage whisper). Look-a- 
thar, Burt. He 's got on his parson's 
outfit. 

Burt — (Uncomfortably). What's up, 
anyhow? Are ye on, Olie? 

Morrill — ^Dead beat. 

Clinch— (To Laura). You want me — 
let me understand you clearly — to marry 
— you? 

Laura — Yep, an' as quick as you can 
do it. 

Clinch — Are you sure that your deep- 
est — 'er — affections are involved in the 
matter? This is a serious thing, Laura, 
and much as I desire your happiness, I 
want to be sure, to have — clear evidence. 
That is— 

Laura — (Impatiently). There ain't no 
evidence. 

Clinch — To be precise, Laura, I must 
know positively that with your whole 
soul you — er — love — me. 

27 



Laura — You? 

Clinch — ^Why, yes, of course. It is a 
wonderful miracle of God that has turned 
your heart 

Laura — No, it ain't. (Pointing to Burt.) 
That's him. 

Burt— Me? 

Clinch— 'Eh? The horse- thief? 

Morrill — Well, I dunno, but whoever 
marries Burt's got to marry me. 

Clinch — (Flushing). You — you've insult- 
ed me. 

Laura — (Hotly). Now you go right 
along, Mr. Clinch. He ain't so bad even 
if he is a hoss-thief. 

Clinch — You can't expect me — er — to mar- 
ry you off to a — ^jailbird. 

Laura — Look-a-here, Mr. Clinch. I'm no 
three-year-old, an' I guess I know what 
I'm doin'. 

Morrill — That's the way, Miss. 

Clinch — (To Laura). That's just where I 
don't agree with you. I believe that you 
don't know what you are doing. I'm going 
to call your father. 

(Laura, without answering, goes to the 
table and deliberately lights the lamp. Then 
she turns to Clinch again.) 

Laura— Wake him if ye want to, an' if 
ye can. Everything's ready. We'll have it 
out. 

Clinch — Well, you can have a row if you 
want to, but it won't do any good. He 
won't let this — er — prisoner go. He can't 
afford to. 

Laura — ^That's just it — an' he's got to. 
You're a parson, Mr. Clinch. Ye want to 

38 



save souls, don't ye? It's sort o* your 
business. 

Clinch— Not exactly. More, a calling. 

Laura— Well, ye like to do it, don't ye? 
Same's— same's some folks take to rustiin' 
bosses? Now bere's Burt. He's goin' to 
get fifteen years if he don't light out. That 
finishes him, don't it? He'll be ready to 
go on the road an' kill people by the time 
he comes out. 

Clinch— It's a hard case, I know; but 
you're too good for him, and 

Laura— I ain't a great hand at savin' 
souls, but I'm not goin' to let Burt's fry. 
Jest a human interest, that's all. I'm gain' 
to marry him now and take him home to 
Oklahoma, an' the ol' man can't say noth- 
in'. He can't send down my husband, an' 
he knows it. 

Clinch— (Struggling for expression). D-d- 
darn souls, Miss Laura! I love you and I'd 
rather have the whole of Rio Blanco Coun- 
ty_er—er— fry— than see you throw your- 
self away in pity of a horse-thief. 

Laura— (In astonishment, appreciatively). 
That's talkin' some, for you, parson. 

Clinch— Besides, your father '11 shoot. 
He '11 shoot Burt Haskell dead on the spot. 
He 's got the right to do it. He 's broken 

jail. 

Burt— (Dryly). I guess I'll take my 
chances on that, if the lady thinks 

Laura— (After a pause, deliberately). 
Well, here's a gamble, Mr. Clinch. You 
marry me and Burt there, an' if Pa shoots, 
it's ofE, an' I'll marry you. Are you game? 

39 



Clinch — (Staring at Laura as ii not fully- 
understanding her meaning). What? 

Burt— (To Clinch). It's just if the ole 
man plunks me, you're next. 

Morrill — (Likewise to Clinch, persua- 
sively, innocently). Te see how much 
she's set on havin' Burt thar. She's 
takin' a orful risk. 

Clinch — (To Laura). You'll marry me 
— sure? 

Laura — (Contemptuously). I ain't a 
quitter, Mr. Clinch. 

Clinch— (Slowly). Oh, dear! It's mor- 
tal sin — but I will! (As he is speaking, 
Bartlett in his chair becomes restless and 
turns round.) 

Bartlett — (Talking in his sleep). I 
never wings 'em, I lays 'em out— 

Morrill — (Nudging Burt). I reckon 
you 're cinched. 

Laura — (Dragging Clinch into the tool- 
room and beckoning the others to follow). 
Don't let pa know till it 's done. (To 
Morrill.) You're witness. Come along. 

Burt — (In a stage whisper to Morrill). 
I half wish I wuz back in the jail, Olie. 
(They go out and a moment later Clinch's 
voice may be heard reading the marriage 
service behind the closed door. Indis- 
tinctly and in a hum, the sound comes to 
Bartlett who makes a gesture as if to 
brush away a fly. Slowly his eyes open. 
As the fact of the room's being lighted 
dawns upon him, he stares in stupid as- 
tonishment at the burning lamp.) 

Bartlett — (Puzzled). Al Bartlett, you 
put out that lamp. (He gets up and 



40 



stands a moment in the centre of the 
room collecting- himself and listening. 
The sleep has somewhat relieved him 
from the effects of his potations. ' He 
turns to the door, on the left forward, 
and calls.) 

Bartlett— Eliza ! E-liza ! 
Mrs. Bartlett — (Inside). Ain't ye com- 
in' to bed yet, Mr. Bartlett? 

Bartlett — Did I put out this lamp, or 
didn't I? 

Mrs. Bartlett — (Appearing, scantily 
garbed, at the door). Hadn't ye better 
sleep it off, Al? 

Bartlett — ^See here, Mrs. B., I 'm sober, 
I am, an' I put out this here lamp, an' 
now it 's lit. 

Mrs. Bartlett — (Listening). What's 
that noise? 

Bartlett — Them boys a-talkin', I guess. 
Mrs. Bartlett — Gracious, Mr. Bartlett, 
I hope you'll never have any hoss-thieves 
in this ranch again. 

Bartlett — Oh, them boys is all right. 
(He goes to the door, but just as he is 
about to turn the key, the door is opened 
from the inside and Clinch comes out 
with Laura, Burt and Morrill. Bartlett 
jumps back in astonishment.) 

Bartlett — By gee! What's this — a 
prayer meetin'? 

Mrs. Bartlett — Why, Laura! 
(There is a moment's silence. No one 
seems anxious to be the one to explain.) 

Laura — (Slowly). Pa, you've got to 
let Burt go. 

41 



Bartlett — (Staring). Te ain't gone 
plumb crazy, hev ye, Laura? 

Laura — (Steadily). Ye've got to let 
him go. 

Bartlett — (To Burt and Morrill, point- 
ing to the toolroom). Git back in thar, 
boys! Git back, an' quick! 

Burt— Mr. Bartlett — 

Laura — (To Burt). You stay right 
thar. 

Morrill — (Aside to Burt). Guess you 
won't have much to say even if you do 
get her. 

Bartlett — I'm the eheriflC here an' I 
guess if I brought you boys nine hundred 
miles — 

Laura — Ye got to let him go. 

Bartlett — Eh? 

Laura — I've married him. 

Mrs. Bartlett — Gracious! If you ain't 
a wicked girl, Laura! 

Bartlett — (Speechless with rage, his 
hand in a flash on his hip pocket). 
'Twon't be long, by gee! 

Laura — (Coming quickly over to her 
father and laying her hand on his right 
arm, steadily). Pa, you've got to let us 
go. We're goin' to the ranch in Okla- 
homa and won't bother you or the hosses. 
I've made up my mind.. Burt ain't a bad 
sort an' I won't let ye send him up for 
no fifteen years. 'T ain't right an' it 's no 
go. Come on. Pa. Where's the key to 
the irons? 

Bartlett — (Shaking off her hold and 

42 



slowly drawing his six-shooter). That's 
no game to work on Al Bartlett. No 
man's ever got away from me fur any 
reason. I've brought 'em back, dead or 
alive. Get away there, gal. Te needn't 
get in front o' him that way. 

Morrill — That ain't a friendly way o' 
treatin' a partner, Al. 

Bartlett— (Pushing Laura aside roughly, 
with yet a touch of kindness in his voice). 
Get to bed, gal. This ain't no job for you 
to get mixed in. 

Laura — Ye won't shoot, Pa? 

Bartlett — 'Tain't true, then, you've 
married him? 

Clinch— (Biting his lip). It's true, Mr. 
Bartlett. 

Bartlett — There's nuthin' fer it then. 
I'm sorry, Burt — 

Laura— (Quickly). Pa! 

Bartlett — 'Tain't no use, gal. He's a 
hoss-thief an' — an' — It's no use — 

Laura — Te're makin' it worse if ye 
shoot. 

Bartlett — I'll take the risk o' your ap- 
pearin' against me. 

Laura— 'Tain't that. I've made an agree- 
ment with Mr. Clinch here. 

Bartlett — That don't affect this business 
none, I guess, gal 

Laura — Well, it do. 

Clinch — (Interposing), Are you ^oing to 
tell him? 

Laura — I sure am, 

Bartlett — Come on. 

Laura- He wouldn't tie the knot with 



43 



Burt here 'less I promised to marry him 
if ye shot. 

Bartlett— An' ye promised? 

Laura — I guess I did. 

(The expression of the sheriff's face 
changes slowly; and the pistol is slipped 
mechanically back into the holster. Bart- 
lett takes a step forward and lays a hand 
on the irons binding together Burt" and 
Morrill, at the same time, scarce noticed 
by the others on the stage, drawing a key 
from his pocket. He sets the tiny key 
quickly into the lock.) 

Bartlett — I can't shoot up the whole of 
Rio Blanco County for one gal. (He gives 
the key a quick turn and the handcuffs 
fall to the ground. Then, laying his hand 
on Burt's shoulder). Now git, Burt Has- 
kell. (Turning to Clinch.) As for you, Mr. 
Parson Clinch, by gee, I'd rather lose the 
election. 

(While the sheriff is talking to Clinch, 
Morrill turns and slips unobserved out of 
the door.) 

Laura — (Taking Burt by the arm). Come 
on, Burt. It's Oklahoma for us. 

Bartlett— Where 's Olie Morrill? 

Morrill — (Sticking his head in at the 
door). So long, Al. 

Burt — (Rushing for the door). So long, 
pal! 

Bartlett — (Doing likewise). Olie Morrill! 
Ye hoss-thief! This don't take ye in. 

Morrill— (Looking suddenly in at the win- 
dow, right). Hard luck, Al! Ye dassn't 
show up with one of us, without the other! 

Laura — He's gone! 



Bartlett — (With a shout). Gone with the 
roan! 

Clinch — (Jumping as if shot). Why, 
that's the horse I got from Tom Bryan's 
corral! 

Bartlett — (Picking up the handcuffs from 
the floor). Well, Mr. Clinch, I guess I got 
to arrest ye for a hoss-thief. 

(As Clinch stares in stupid amazement 
at the sheriff, Bartlett moves forward with 
the handcuffs, and the curtain falls.) 



45 



mn ao iqiq 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

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